


The Things Our Families Say

by Confused_Foam



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Comfort, Director's Cut Zine, Ennoshita Zine, Family Issues, Gen, Karasuno Family, Light Angst, Self-Doubt, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Confused_Foam/pseuds/Confused_Foam
Summary: The night after the Wakutani match Chikara should be celebrating his success on the court in his first official match all year, or maybe resting up for the games they still have to play tomorrow. He isn't doing either.
Relationships: Ennoshita Chikara & His Parents, Ennoshita Chikara & Karasuno Volleyball Club
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	The Things Our Families Say

It’s far too early to go to bed. Too early to take a bath, even. In fact, it is so early in the evening that Chikara is still waiting on his mother to finish cooking. But all Chikara wants to do is crawl into bed and shove his head under his pillow. The longer he sits on the couch waiting, the less sure he is if that desire is due to his exhaustion from the games today or the current conversation with his father. Well, Attempt at conversation. 

His father cares just enough about his son’s club activities to remember they had some sort of game today, and that perhaps asking about it would be the ‘good father’ thing to do. Though he did seem a little surprised when Chikara told him (again) that they are in the middle of a tournament. 

“We won both of our matches today, actually. Well, We hardly won them. But we did,” Chikara says, trying not to frown at the fact that his father doesn't even fully put down the newspaper to hear the answer to a question he asked. 

“That so? Your team must have some fairly good players then.” It’s an inattentive, filled with the disinterest of a conversation you are having just to be polite. 

Chikara grinds his teeth and keeps talking to today's headline. “Yeah. All our guys are pretty good. We made it into the finals, actually. The team we’re playing next has one of the top three aces in the country.”

His father does actually peek out from over the top of his paper at that, only to smile sympathetically. “Well, making it that far in the tournament is still an impressive feat-” like they have already lost the game without even stepping on the court - “especially for a team of your caliber. All your players should be proud of their effort.” 

Chikara doesn’t bother trying to correct any of the many errors in his father’s thinking. There is no point in reminding him that they haven't even played the game yet. Or that Chikara is one of those players, not just a fan of the volleyball club or something. Not when he’s only being half listened to. 

There's certainly no point in bringing up the fact that he actually got to play in one of today's matches. He’s far too tired for it. 

Not to mention he hardly has time to say anything at all with how quickly his father moves on to talking about the financial news of the day. It’s Chikara’s turn to only half listen until his mother finally, _finally_ , calls them in for dinner. 

Dinner passes quickly, and unfortunately not quietly. The political and financial discussion doesn’t just continue, but starts over at the top now that his father has a new ear to bend about it. Chikara just tunes it out fully, and focuses on not slumping into his dinner plate. He excuses himself to take a bath as soon as he can, not indulging in the second helping he probably ought to have after a game day. He’s so close to being able to go to bed. He just wants to sleep. To stop thinking about the game. To, funny enough, run away from his own unhelpful brain. He laughs without much humor as he waits for the tub to fill up. 

When it is finally full and he can turn off the tap, Chikara sinks into the maybe-too-hot water with a groan. He knows every bruise from every botched dive will show that much starker after a hot bath. And be that much more tender. He grumbles a few half-hearted complaints to himself but sinks a little lower. When the sloshing water stills he can just hear his parents talking. 

It isn’t unusual. He is well aware of their thin walls and how sounds carry in the small house. What is a bit odd is that, from what he can tell, they are actually talking about him. 

“Chikara sure went off to take his bath in a hurry,” he hears his father say, sounding a touch annoyed. 

His mother sounds much less bothered when she speaks. “You know his team’s in the middle of a tournament at the moment. He’s probably tired.”

His father’s scoff cuts through the walls loud and clear. “I don’t know why he would be so tired. It's not as though he actually plays.”

“Now dear-” 

Chikara doesn’t hear the rest of his mother’s protest. He slides down in the tub until he’s all the way underwater and doesn't have to hear anything but the sounds of the water sloshing against the walls of the bathtub. By the time he comes up, gasping for air, the conversation has moved on. Even when criticizing it, his volleyball career is hardly worth more than a moment's discussion. He can hardly even call it a career, really. He’s only been in a handful of matches and been fairly far from good in any of them. 

He lingers idly in the tub, lost in mental replays, until his mother comes knocking on the door, and he realizes with a start the water had grown cold. He hurries out of the water and through drying off enough to walk down the hallway. Whatever vague apology he offers his mother when he brushes past her does little to soothe the worried look on her face. He can’t look at it. Whenever she worries, it only makes him feel worse.

Chikara goes to bed with half dried hair and a lingering chill. Crawling between his sheets in the first t-shirt and boxers he got his hands on. He’s still damp in places, and the t-shirt clings at the small of his back and the collar. He can’t be bothered to care much. He is tired. So tired. How is he supposed to do this next year? He didn’t play the whole match, let alone two in a row like most of them. And he wasn’t even playing well. How the hell do the starters survive it? 

His weakness is going to be on full display to the team next year, like it was today. Without Daichi-san and the bench to hide behind. How does anyone think he can meet Daichi-san’s legacy? Maybe they don’t anymore, after today. They might have won, but he was as good as deadweight more than half the time he was on the court. Maybe it was for the best. Now they will know for sure that he’s not cut out for the job. They will probably tell him so after tomorrow’s game. They’ll pick someone better. Tanaka, probably. 

If they don’t, he should turn them down himself.

The idea of passing up on the responsibility should be a relief. The idea of captaincy has weighed on him since they spoke about it weeks ago. It should be such a relief. But instead, the idea of running away from this sends his stomach twisting in awful, new ways. He wants to shout but settles for jamming his head under his pillow with a violent groan. 

As he does, there is a knock and the sound of the door creaking open a bit. Chikara peaks out to see his mother hovering in the doorway, frowning as she takes in the already dark room of her normally night-owl son. “Chikara? Are you alright?”

Guiltily, he sits up. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

She considers him for another moment, making Chikara fidget even more before she finally says “You left your phone in the living room. You’ve got quite a few missed messages.”

“Oh, sorry,” he says, and fumbles the phone as she tosses it across the room to him. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I took a bit of a peak. Just to see if it was urgent,” she says, with the decency to sound a touch sheepish. “They weren’t really. But you should have a look before you go to sleep.” 

He finds the insistence a bit odd, but just nods as she wishes him a goodnight and closes the door again. Confused, and a little worried the messages are all criticisms the team didn't want to say to his face, Chikara finds himself holding his breath while checking his phone. 

He’s surprised both at the number of messages he sees, and the number of different teammates they are from. 

**From:** Taller Trouble  
Better not stay up like you always do tonight o junior-captain-san  
Your soft benchwarmer body isn't used to being so cool   
You need to sleep

**From:** Smaller Trouble   
Nice plays today chikara!!!  
We are going to kick so much ass next year   
And tomorrow!

**From:** Hinata!!!!  
It was sooooo cool playing with you today Ennoshita-san!!!!!   
You were so  
!!!!!!  
and   
!!!!!!!

**From:** Narita  
You ok? You seemed weird after the first match today  
Which you did very well in btw  
It's scary on the court in official matches huh?  
Ennoshita?

**From:** Yamaguchi T.   
Thank you ennoshita-san  
For what you said to coach today i mean

**From:** Daichi-san  
Thanks for being so reliable today. Couldn't have made it to the finals without you   
Get some good rest Ennoshita.

The messages make something a bit like hope well up in his chest. And something more than a bit like tears well up in his eyes. Chikara reads them over and over again, waiting for the kind words to turn to the criticisms he deserves, but they never do. He presses his phone to his chest, tears are still dripping down his cheeks, but he is smiling. Just a little. Being captain is still stomach-churningly intimidating, and probably won’t ever stop being so. But maybe. Just maybe. With teammates like this, it will all somehow be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> This was piece I did for Director's Cut, the Ennoshita zine that happened recently. This was my first ever zine, and I am so honored to have gotten the chance to participate. I adored the whole project, everyone I worked with, and everyone else's pieces! It was such a fun project!!
> 
> As for my piece in particular, I do love me some ennoshita angst, and love a supportive karsuno even more! I'm really happy with how this came out, and I hope you all are too. 
> 
> Comments and kudos fuel me, and also make me smile lots and lots, just saying. 
> 
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/confused_foam)


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